Beyond the Fence
by SJlikeslists
Summary: May 8 was too far away, and the woods had to be better than where they were. An eleven year old Katniss makes a different decision when it comes to taking care of Prim.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: _The Hunger Games_ is not mine.

She shakes her mother's shoulder, but the woman doesn't move in response. The stubborn determination to make her get up and sit at the table with them that she was feeling mere seconds earlier drains out of her so quickly that she feels her shoulders hunch in on themselves as if she has been deflated. If their mother can't bring herself to try, why should she work so hard to make her? What is she doing?

Prim. She's doing it for Prim. They have to keep up appearances or they will put Prim in the community home. Prim can't go to the community home. She can't. Katniss is trying so hard. She's done everything that she can think of, and the meal waiting for them at the table is an unexpected help that she still can't wrap her mind around. None of it is going to matter if their mother stays in that bed.

She was ready for that not so very long ago. She had been sitting against that tree with the rain soaking into her, and she had been ready to give up; she had been ready to die. She had been ready for the Peacekeepers to come and take Prim to the community home. She realizes with a small start that she had been ready to leave Prim all alone. Their father had left them alone (he hadn't meant to do it, but he had). Their mother had left them alone in every way that mattered (and she didn't understand why they weren't important enough to her - why Prim wasn't important enough to her - to try). She had been wet and defeated and ready to leave Prim as well. She couldn't do that. She wouldn't do that. She wouldn't be just like her mother.

She owed the boy with the bread for that. She owed him not just for the kindness of tossing her the bread but for breaking her out of wherever it was she had been where giving up seemed like the only thing to do. The urge to shake her mother struck her again hard but not for her earlier reason of getting her to come to supper. She wanted to shake her in anger. She wanted to scream out all of the rage and confusion in her little eleven year old heart until something, anything got through to the woman whose only movement was to draw the blankets up higher to better block her out her daughter's actions. She didn't shake her. She didn't say any of the things which she was thinking. She turned, and she walked away. If the woman behind her who used to be her mother would not get out of that bed for Prim, then Katniss was sure that she had no chance of making it happen.

Prim was waiting just like she had asked her to, and Katniss chided herself for making her sweet, hungry little sister wait while she tried to create some semblance of what their normal family used to look like around them. Their family was gone. It was just going to be her and Prim now. Their mother didn't want to be with them.

They ate their way through slice after slice, and Katniss told her sister to just keep eating when she asked about feeding their mother. Her voice was harsher than she had ever used with Prim and hurt was visible behind the tears that welled up in her sister's eyes.

"She's sick," Katniss told her going back to the normal way that she spoke to her. "She doesn't want anything."

Prim looked doubtful, but she didn't ask again.

After her sister curled up beside the mother who didn't so much as move to acknowledge she was there, Katniss sat in her chair at the table and tried to think about what to do. The bread wouldn't last them forever. They had both been so hungry (and the bread had been so not something that she had planned on coming home with) that she had not thought about limits and making it last. She could easily make the rest last two days (maybe three if they were very careful, but she was tired of seeing the little bones in her sister's wrists and the resigned to going to bed with an empty stomach look in her eyes).

She was not going to give up again.

Their mother hadn't moved. A strange boy that had only seen her at school had done more for her little sister and her in one moment than their own mother had done for them in all of the weeks since their father had died. They weren't going to make it until May 8. Something like the bread was not going to happen again. Prim was going to be going hungry again or someone was going to notice something about their mother. She had to think of something else. May 8 was too far away.

Her eyes landed on the book that had sat untouched since her last lesson about the woods with her father, and something inside of her wanted to burst out laughing at how stupid she had been. Her father had the answer for her - he always did. She pulled it to the table and flipped through the pages reminding herself of which things were which. She had never gone gathering without supervision (she had never needed to before). That had changed. No one else was going to keep her little sister from starving.

She had a brief thought about sliding under the fence and bringing things back. It was a scary thought, but she could do it if it meant Prim didn't starve. It would keep them going. It would get them to May 8 and help them after. It could work.

Of course, that would not keep someone from noticing that something was wrong at their house. It wouldn't stop the hurt in Prim's eyes every time she tried and their mother rejected her again. It wouldn't do anything to make her get out of bed or stop shaking Katniss off when she tried to get her to join them at the table. It wouldn't keep Prim from having to watch as their mother starved herself to death while her children sat a few feet away.

The thought of taking Prim into the woods should have been more frightening than the thought of braving its dangers by herself, but it somehow wasn't. If anything, the thought of having to keep Prim safe made her feel braver.

It was a crazy idea. If they got caught . . .

But who would be looking? Neither of them was Reaping age. They wouldn't be the first children whose parents had neglected them until it was too late. Isn't that what everyone would think? If their mother even snapped herself out of her stupor enough to answer any questions, then it wouldn't matter. She hadn't been paying attention to them for weeks. She didn't have anything to tell.

If they got attacked . . .

Then, she had her bow. She would make sure that Prim knew how to climb trees first thing. There was the cabin. It wasn't much, but it would help them have enough time to figure out what they were doing.

It was still a crazy idea. She was pretty sure that she had gone crazy, but it was all that she could think of doing. She would take Prim away. They would go to the woods and maybe get eaten, but they would be together (and being eaten might be painful but it was probably fast). She had the book. She could feed her sister if they were in the woods. The woods were their father's place. He had always used them to take care of them. This house was their mother's place, and there was no one to take care of them in it. Katniss would choose the woods. Prim could learn. Prim would have to learn.

They might be okay. If they weren't . . .

Well, they were already not okay. They were already dying slowly. She wanted a chance. She wanted Prim to have a chance.

She would start packing now.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: _The Hunger Games_ is not mine.

They can never come back.

Those words should frighten her. They should give her pause and make her reconsider what she is doing. They don't. They don't even slow her down. Whatever strange determination it is that has taken her over, it is unmoved by the reality of how permanent this decision is. It does not care. It does not see a problem. It sees only solutions.

They can never come back.

That just means that she needs to pack very carefully. If she discovers that they have left something behind that they could have used, then there will be no way to get it. They will have to do without.

The book goes in the forage bag first.

It is large and awkwardly shaped for carrying in that manner, but it is the one thing that she knows will help her take care of Prim the most. Whatever else they take will have to fit around it. She can't just trust her memory. There are things listed in the book - especially medical use ones - that she has never had a reason to look for or use. She had her parents for that. That part of her life is over. If Prim needs something, then she has to be able to find it. She has to be able to recognize it and know the right parts and the right ways to use it. She can't take chances with things that might kill her little sister if she uses them in the wrong way or can't find the proper things to use in the first place.

This is serious. This is deadly serious. What she is doing is something that she should not even consider. She would not even be considering it if she could see anything but her little sister's dimming eyes in front of her. She is desperate, and she is angry. She has been told that both of those things make for less than appropriate thinking while making decisions. She does not care.

Someone will notice that they are gone. They may actually have a couple of days before they come looking, but they will come looking. The house can't look like they packed. Her clothes and Prim's clothes that they aren't actually wearing will have to stay in place. The things that belonged to their father, however, should be safe. No one will question those things being gone. Anyone who spends any time with their mother will surely think that she did something to them in her grief. Katniss hopes that that is the way that this goes. She's kind of depending on it.

She rolls items up to make them smaller and shoves as many of them as she can into the forage bag. She doesn't know what to do about blankets. It should be getting warmer soon, but it isn't summer yet. It will get cold again if they make it that long. They will need blankets, but it will be obvious if they take the ones from their bed. Is that something that she can make? She's never had to be responsible for the skinning before, and her father usually traded those away instead of working them himself. She isn't sure that she knows what to do. There are so many things to plan for and think about and she is sure that she is forgetting more things than she is remembering.

Knowing that does not change her mind. Prim can't stay here.

Her bow and her father's bows are already in the woods. They have never been inside the fence, so she doesn't have to worry about carrying them. Her father's good knife is hidden out there wrapped in a protective cover just like the bows, but she packs the sharpest one from the kitchen as well. She stares at the dishes for a long time wondering what she can take that will be the most useful and the least obvious. She decides on one large spoon, one pot, and two mugs. She is nervous about even that tipping someone off that they have run away. She knows that they will be dead in a matter of days if they get caught running off to the woods, but she knows that she has to have some tools for keeping Prim fed. She's only gone to the woods with her father - a sort of a bystander on what were always his trips. She's never been on her own there before. She's never had to think about how to live there without a house and help to come back to for cleaning and cooking the game that they found.

The forage bag is stuffed with no way to get the pot inside. She'll have to carry it separately. The canteen in which her father carried water was lost with him in the mine, and she has no way to replace it. That worries her, but there is nothing in the house that will function in the same way. The only thing left to take is the bread still over on the table which she reaches for and wraps. She thinks she should be sad that there is so little, but she can feel herself growing more detached by the moment. This is no longer her home. It is no longer a place she belongs. It is no longer a place where Prim is safe.

It stopped being their home the day that their father did not return to it. It stopped being their home when their mother decided to wrap herself in her grief and pretend that her children were not watching her as she shut down. This place is wrong now. She will be happy to leave this house and know that she will never be returning.

Prim, however, is going to be more difficult. She won't be able to explain until they are already gone. Prim won't understand her explanations. She will wake her in a few minutes and dress her warmly before making their way to the gap under the fence in the Meadow. The rain has stopped, but it is dark. Going under the fence in the dark is even more dangerous than just going under the fence already is, but she has to make sure that no one can see what they are doing. By the time the sun comes up, they need to already be gone.

She takes a deep breath. This is her last chance to change her mind. She can put everything away. She can try some more to make their mother try. She can go to the woods by herself and bring back things for them to eat. She can unwrap the bread from the napkin where it is tucked away in the pot and put it back on the table for them to eat slices in the morning.

She doesn't.

"Prim," she whispers touching a gentle hand to her sister's shoulder. "You need to wake up."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: _The Hunger Games_ is not mine.

She thought that she knew what it was to be afraid.

The way the truth had crept over her as she was sliding down onto the ground when she could no longer stand up with the weight of Prim leaned against her had been her standard for what it was to be afraid. They had waited for their father to appear from the mine with the sounds of the already silenced sirens ringing in her ears for hours. Dusk had fallen around them as all movement from that direction had ceased. She had known what that meant even as she tried to deny it. They were leaving him there buried underneath the rock, and she had been the one who had to tell Prim. Their mother had been making a strange keening noise that had frightened her usually caring and determined to comfort little sister, and Prim had clung to her with wide eyes that begged for an explanation. She had been terrified in the face of the enormity of it all. How was she supposed to make Prim understand? How was she supposed to understand herself that she was never going to see him again? What was wrong with their mother? Why wasn't she the one holding both of them? It had all been too much. She had sat there frozen for she didn't know how long until the feel of Prim shaking against her had snapped her out of it.

Watching her mother sink further and further into herself until it was clear that she had no intention of coming back to them had broken something inside of her, but it had seemed less something to be afraid of and more something to be angry over. Thinking that Prim was going to starve if she came home empty handed one more time had left her feeling lost, but it wasn't the same as that debilitating fear that had engulfed her for those few minutes outside of the mine that day.

She hadn't thought that she could ever be that scared of anything again. She had been wrong. She had been so very wrong.

None of those feelings were anything like what she experienced as she led her little sister through the darkness of their District to try to reach the fence undetected. Prim had said nothing while Katniss had helped her get dressed and pulled her arms through the sleeves of an old sweater of their father's that hung off of her tiny frame and made her look even more fragile than she already did. The Prim of a few months earlier would have quietly asked her questions about where they were going and what Katniss was doing. She had lost that in the time that their father had been gone. She did as she was told now - knowing that the questions that she most wanted to ask no longer had answers. Katniss hated that, but she was glad that she didn't have to explain what they were doing to her now. She didn't have room in her head for any explanations or questions. She only had room for desperation and a near state of panic.

The District didn't look like the District that she had known for all of her life. Everything had taken on strange shapes in the dim light that the moon poured down through the cloud cover. She had walked the path to the Meadow so many times that her feet should have been able to take the necessary steps without thought, but she found herself contemplating every footfall. Was she walking too loudly? Was anyone watching? Was she holding Prim's arm too tightly as they made their way along?

She had trailed after her father to his preferred spot for slipping through the fence often and never thought anything of it. It had always been something that they simply did. She hadn't worried about someone stopping them or someone reporting them because it had never occurred to her that anyone would do that to her father (even with all the lessons about why their trips should never be spoken of even with those to whom they made sales). She hadn't been afraid of what the fence represented when her father had been by her side.

Her father was not by her side any longer.

Feeling Prim's fingers tighten against her own, she realized that she was sensing her tension. Prim always picked up on things being wrong with anyone around her - yet another reason that she had to get the little girl away from their mother before it shattered her. She had heard something once about there being no bravery without first being afraid. She couldn't remember where it had been or who had said it. She just knew that she had heard it said. She was really scared (of getting caught and of not getting caught in nearly equal measures). She hoped that meant that she was going to be able to be brave for Prim.

They didn't make it very far into the woods. She wasn't sure how far she had really expected them to get in the dark; she had been focused on getting out with a vague plan of heading toward the cabin without really planning exactly how she was going to get Prim all the way there. She had known that it would take time (Prim was little and weak from being hungry as well as being completely unfamiliar with being outside of the fence). She had known that the dark would be a problem. She had known that the things that lurked in the dark would be a problem.

She breathed an extra deep breath after they had both scooted underneath the gap in the fence. She could stop worrying about people for a little while at least. The problem with being outside the reach of people, however, was being within the reach of all of the things that lived away from them. As quickly as the relief of having made it to the fence came over her, it was replaced with an overwhelming fear of everything that could come after Prim now that there was no fence between her and them to keep them away. The fact that it was dark didn't help her. She couldn't see where they were going. She couldn't see what might be coming to them. She knew day sounds of the woods; the sounds of the woods at night were beyond her experience. She didn't know what was normal and what was not. She didn't know what some of the sounds were or what sort of a threat that they represented.

Prim had never been up a tree before, and it just gave Katniss one more thing to worry about. She had chosen the best tree that she could remember (and find) without keeping them moving through the dark any longer. It felt like it had taken ages to boost Prim up into it (despite how light she was, her arms didn't seem to want to work to pull herself up). She had kept trying without complaining - following Katniss's directions as best she could. She was resting in a nice v of the branches that was plenty roomy for the little girl, but she was tired and that meant she might lose her balance and go tumbling out. If there was more light, then Katniss would try to figure out a way to tie her in place. She considered telling her stories to make her keep awake, but she didn't want to make noise that might draw attention. She finally settled on maneuvering herself close enough that she could brace Prim into place. She wouldn't be falling asleep. Every new noise set the hair on her arms standing on end. She wasn't sure that she would ever be sleeping again with the way that she was feeling.

She settled in to keep watch and wait for the night to come to an end. That left her plenty of time for thinking, and thinking wasn't helping her much. Her sister was never going to really be safe out here. Her sister had never really been safe inside the District either. That's all she wanted. She wanted Prim to be safe. She wanted Prim to not go to sleep hungry with that look in her eyes that said that she had accepted that as how things were going to be. Katniss didn't want things to be that way. She didn't know what else to do. Nothing she did was the right choice. Why couldn't there be a right choice?


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: _The Hunger Games_ are not mine.

She shook the little plastic bottle and heard the reassuring clink that told her that there were still a few doses rolling around inside. The stinging behind her eyes was mild enough that she was sure two of the pills would do the trick. She opened the top and slid a couple into the palm of her hand. She was supposed to take them with water, but she didn't take the time to go looking for a glass. She would have to remind someone that they needed to start keeping a pitcher on her bedside table. It would make it easier on the days that standing was a problem.

She had had a few of those lately. This, on the other hand, was a good day. The headache was minor - minor for what was rapidly becoming her version of normal. It was confined to the area directly behind her eyes instead of the pressure being across the entirety of her skull. She wasn't dizzy. She wasn't blinded by pain induced by the light from the window. She was uncomfortable; she wasn't unable to function. She counted that as a win.

She had somewhere to be and fuzzy headed was not going to be of help to her. She would wait for the medication to finish kicking in before she made her visit. She would get back around the time that Madge got home from school, and she could sit in on her practice. She hadn't done that for a while. Madge had been very calm about the whole deteriorating situation. She could have acted out or whined and complained. She deserved some time where it was just the two of them without the pain or the lack of clarity caused by the heavier medications standing between them. Madge's father would come home from the Justice Building after that. They would all sit around the table and eat dinner together. They might even play a game (the simple kind that came on a board instead of the complicated one they lived through on a daily basis). She had a good feeling about this day, and it wasn't just because it was one of the best ones she had had in a few weeks health wise.

She was also feeling good about what she was going to discuss during her unannounced visit. Missing children should not make someone feel better about the world, but Panem was hardly the epitome of what the world should feel like.

It had turned to full blown spring in the course of the last couple of days, and she paused for a moment on the steps leading down from the porch to tilt up her chin and let the sun wash over her face. It was nice to not have to hide from the light. She had been getting a little depressed in those days that she had been confined to her bed with all of the light shut out of the room. It was good to have a respite. The District doctor would tell her that she was pushing herself harder than she should. That man was quickly cementing himself on her list of most annoying persons that she had ever encountered (and she had dealt with reporters with unnatural hair colors shoving microphones in her face while she was watching her twin fight for her life).

She didn't want to take it easy. She wanted to relish the time that she had while she had it. She wasn't naive enough to believe that they would be increasing in frequency. She knew exactly what was coming. She needed to do what she could while she could. She savored the walk - even the coal dust was something she would miss when the time came. It wouldn't be home without it.

The way to the Victor's Village was the best maintained and least used path in the entire District. It was a strangely appropriate analogy for Panem as a whole. She had heard the stories and explanations all throughout her childhood, but they had, somehow, never been real to her until Maysilee was gone. Maysilee would have whispered something about those in power always using polish on useless things to distract from the tarnish that surrounded them. She would have ignored the words or hushed her. That had been so long ago. She wondered, sometimes, whether or not she would have ever learned to be brave if she hadn't lost her sister. Would she have ever found it necessary to fight if Mays had still be there to tackle the battles herself? It didn't really matter. The one rule from the world before that her parents had revered in their tales that held true in Panem and would hold true in whatever came after was that what had been had already been. One could never go back. It accomplished nothing to dwell and ponder.

The man that she was going to see could have done with a little solider grounding in that lesson. He was, of course, never quite as drunk as he appeared but that had little to do with a lack of drinking and much to do with years upon years of building a tolerance. She did not come to see him often. Even before her "downhill turn" as the District doctor had termed it, she did not make it a habit to darken his doorstep. She knew exactly what he saw every time that he looked at her. She knew what memories she invoked; she knew what feelings she brought to the surface. She knew how hard it made it for him to say no to her. So, she stayed away until something that she considered of grave importance came along. Then, she would make her visit and her request. He wasn't a biddable man. He wasn't even a pleasant conversationalist. She wasn't going to chance her appearance losing its shock factor. She also wasn't going to use her power for frivolous things. They both knew where they stood; they both had a respect for each other in their relative positions, but they were never going to be casual chatting acquaintances or anything more than vaguely friendly collaborators. There was too much in the way between them for that (and it was all wrapped up in a girl with blonde hair that stood in the midst of all their interactions at forever sixteen).

For herself, Maysilee had been a kickstart. For him, Maysilee had been a regret. This often led them to a common interest in certain matters, but it also left them at a loss for understanding the whys and hows of the other's actions.

She knocked because manners dictated that she do so (and because even on the doorstep of the cluttered, filthy house in front of which she was standing there were always eyes to see). He didn't answer. She hadn't expected him to open the door himself. He never did unless she just happened to catch him exiting on one of his excursions into town for supplies. She, like the other occasions upon which she had made this trip, did not allow the lack of response to dissuade her. She opened up the door and let herself in propping it with a random bit of rubbish that her foot encountered inside the door in order to allow some fresh air a chance to enter the place.

Haymitch was not a man who bothered with airing out his house - or cleaning it.

"No," a voice called from somewhere within the depths as soon as she was clear of the threshold.

It didn't matter how out of it the man appeared to be; he always knew exactly who was in his vicinity.

"You can't tell me no before hearing me out," she trilled back in amusement. The man was so predictable for anyone who bothered to pay attention to the right details.

"Can," the disembodied voice replied. "Saves time."

"It's a beautiful day outside," she suggested. "Why don't you step out and get a breath of fresh air?"

He stomped and grumbled all the way from wherever he had started from to loom over her. He glared. She just looked back at him and waited. His shoulders slumped - the way that they inevitably did when she was in his presence. They were silent as they made their way to the small trail that lapped the houses of the Village. It was never safe to really speak in the house. One always had to play for the audience that might or might not be listening at any given time. The trail was safer.

"Not worth it," he commented putting a hand up to shield his eyes.

"The fresh air or listening to my request?" She questioned.

"Either."

"I think both of them are good for you," she countered.

"You don't even need my help to make one of your little projects happen," he groused at her.

"Maybe not," she shrugged, "but it does expedite things."

"Donner girls," he huffed kicking at a rock that had made the mistake of getting in his way and becoming a subject for the venting of his ire.

"Are you ready to listen?"

"Are you going to give me a choice?"

Her explanation was succinct. Flowery and inspirational was not the way to deal with Haymitch. Short and to the point was the best method.

"How do you know where they went? Plenty of kids around ain't got nobody keeping a close enough eye on them. Peacekeepers would already be looking if someone had seen them go."

"I just know."

"You just know?" He scoffed. "Let's say they did skedaddle under the fence. For all you know, kids got eaten. It'll be a waste of favors and taking chances for nothing."

"I know they're fine for now," she insisted.

"Course you do," he muttered. "Always gotta know things got no business knowing. It's too much trouble."

"She took her little sister and ran off into the woods rather than stay in the District," she told him with an expectant look in her eyes as she nudged him with her shoulder. "That's got to be enough spunk for you, Haymitch. You like spunk."

He grunted in reply before changing the subject.

"Do you have to be showing up in my house the second you get better?"

"I'm not better, Haymitch," she stated with a sigh. "They have graciously arranged another consultation for my delicate health condition," she gave an unamused laugh. "Their specialist will be arriving on the train with the set up crew for Reaping Day to assist with my headaches. They can't have the Mayor distracted from his duties by his wife's issues, can they? After all, they were so very helpful with their first treatment." There was a slightly bitter edge to her tone that she would only ever allow out in front of him. She buried it quickly. "You're going to have to be a little more self-motivated when I'm not around to kick you into gear anymore."

He didn't respond. She expected that. He liked to ignore people when he didn't want to hear what they were saying.

"He know?"

"He wouldn't mention it if he did," she answered in a matter of fact tone. "He's got to keep up appearances. He can't afford to let on that he's gotten the message. It's all a part of the Game."

"I hate Games."

"Maybe, but you are good at flipping the rules on their ears. You're going to have to hold on to that."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Stop pretending that you don't want to do the right thing."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" He glared at her again before kicking the toe of his boot further into the dirt. "Not a lot right to be had most of the time. What about your girl?"

"What about her?"

"How much does she know?"

"About me?" She asked. "The least I can get away with. About everything else? More than her daddy is comfortable with her knowing."

They settled into silence as they continued their circuit.

"Why are you still here?" He asked as they completed their slow walk and arrived back at his doorstep. "You already know that I'll get you what you want. Stop trespassing already," he ordered. "Go on," he continued when she didn't move quickly enough for his liking. "Go spend some time with that girl."

The while you still can remained unspoken but hovering in the air between them.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: _The Hunger Games_ is not mine.

It takes him a few minutes to determine that the girl does, in fact, know where she is going. She wavers back and forth between appearing confident with the path she is taking and looking deeply worried as she glances around. He assumes that while the woods themselves are not new to her, being the one in charge of the trek through them is. The fact that she is leading the little girl with her toward the lake tells him that she has some semblance of a plan and is not blindly running. She knows that they need water. It is the practical first step, and it tells him much about the type of child with which he is dealing.

He can see the way she changes when she turns her head away from the little one. She is concerned about whether or not the girl with her shorter legs (and clear ignorance of the woods as a whole) is going to be able to keep walking for as long as it will take to make it to the lake. Her face isn't particularly expressive, but her posture is. He would be willing to rate her at about equal parts discouraged and committed at the moment. He finds it interesting that while she looks back to check on both the other girl and their surroundings, she never looks back toward the District itself. Going back does not appear to be an option that she is keeping on the table. He has never been inside of the boundaries of Twelve proper himself, but he has a decent enough line of communication to know that things are often unpleasant. Still, it isn't every day (or even every year) that someone legitimately tries to make a run for it. He doesn't think that he has ever seen a child do so with legitimate intention. Children her age that end up in the woods do so because of dares that got them lost; children a little older do so because of arguments with parents that sent them scurrying off in a huff. Even then, he thinks it has been at least twenty or so years since the last one. They doubled down on their tales of the terrors of the woods in the aftermath of the last Quarter Quell as he understands it.

She's plenty observant enough to learn to make a go of it out here he thinks as he notices that she hears him a couple of times (and he has been walking as silently as possible through these woods since his legs were even shorter than the little girl's that is trailing in her wake doing her best to keep up without offering any complaint - which is a point in the little one's favor). He is fairly certain that she does not realize that there is a person following them, but she knows that there is something out there making sporadic sounds. He decides that she expects them to be attacked. It shows in the way that she watches the trees as they travel through them as though she is always scanning for which ones it would be easiest to boost the other girl into if it became necessary. She is wary which is good for their chances, but the girl beside her draws an amount of her attention that could prove detrimental. She looks determined which is also good, but determination can only get you so far if you don't know what you are doing. She clearly knows some, but he isn't so sure that she will have time to learn enough while she is taking care of the both of them on their own.

For now, he'll keep watching. Later, he'll have another message to send.

* * *

She knows they need water. She even knows where to get it for them. What she doesn't know is whether or not she can get Prim there. Her sister isn't used to this - the longest walk her little legs have ever been on is the one from their house to the school. She hasn't eaten well since their father died, and her shoes are just enough too small that Katniss can tell that they are pinching her toes. None of that is helping them travel any more quickly. She doesn't know what to do. She has considered leaving her to sit and rest while she makes the rest of the trek to the lake and brings water back in the pot, but there are so many things wrong with that idea that she doesn't even know where to start deciding whether or not it is worth it. What if something attacks her while she is gone? Prim can't defend herself. There are things in these woods that even Katniss's bow will not keep them safe from, and she can't leave her little sister to possibly face them alone. She would probably spill most of the water trying to bring it back in the pot anyway, but she can tell that Prim is getting too thirsty (she's getting too thirsty herself). They are both still weak from the lack of proper food in their lives, and the bread, no matter how wonderful, can't fix all that damage like a snap of her fingers. Prim is exhausted, and Katniss isn't nearly as alert as she should be after her night keeping watch in the tree.

They need water and a safe place to rest, but the only way to get either is to keep moving. At the same time, keeping moving is just leaving them both more vulnerable and too worn out to respond properly if they come across a threat. There is no clearly right choice for her to make. There have been no clearly right choices since their father has been gone. She doesn't know what else to do. She doesn't have anything else in her head crying out for her attention as loudly as the absolute necessity of getting them to the lake and the cabin, so she keeps them both walking as best she can even when the pace could more accurately be considered a crawl.

* * *

It wasn't like Cray cared. He was stuck out here in the middle of nowhere - otherwise known as District 12. This was a nonexistent place as far as the average lives of most of the people in the world that mattered were concerned (just an extra couple of names for the Games that never lasted much beyond the Cornucopia). He wasn't the sort to complain about that. He liked to be out of the way because it meant that he wasn't on anybody's radar. That didn't mean that he didn't have his own personal complaints about some of the amenities that he didn't have access to because of where he was living, but that was a different series of considerations altogether.

He didn't really care about the ins and outs of the running of the District. He didn't have some sort of a commitment to being the best Head Peacekeeper that he could be or some nonsense of that sort. He wasn't what the whispered conversations during his academy years had termed a true believer. He just wanted to be left alone to have as comfortable of a life as he could manage to eke out here on the outer edges where the powers that be couldn't be bothered to take a look at things too closely.

If there were certain people who wanted to offer him a little grease for his palm in order to fudge some lines on some paperwork, then he wasn't going to start an argument with them. It wasn't like the causes of death around the District weren't already subject to a little officially endorsed creative interpretation. What was a little more? What was it to him if someone wanted to pretend that one of the mine widows hadn't neglected her children to death? It wasn't like it mattered. Dead was dead. Who really cared about the cause? The kids in question were younger than Reaping age, so it wasn't taking anything out of the candidate pool. No one would even look twice at the papers (except maybe that sentimental fool of a Mayor who acted like each page in the stack deserved some sort of moment of reflection - no wonder it took him forever and a day to get his desk cleared).

Paperwork never took much doing when it was on his desk. He took what they handed him and signed and sealed it as requested. That was that. Cray simply did not care about anything other than the bit extra that was currently residing in his pocket and which girl hanging around outside his door a small percentage of it might entice inside for the evening.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: _The Hunger Games_ is not mine.

She had built up the goal of getting to the cabin so much in her head that her relief at seeing it in front of them washed away any sense of disappointment at the visible reminder of just how out of repair it was. Being present at a source of fresh water was enough to knock most everything else out of her head, however, and she quickly guided Prim in that direction. Her little sister's lips were visibly cracked, and Katniss ushered her to the shore as quickly as she could get her to move. It was their second day in the woods without any water (she had given up on getting Prim to go that far the day before and spent another mostly sleepless night huddled next to her in a tree). Water was most important. She could work on everything else after she got some of it down Prim.

There was plenty of daylight left to figure out the best way to keep anything from following them into the cabin. She needed to sleep. She was going to collapse and be useless if she didn't get some rest soon. Water first, then rest. She kept the chant going in her head as she helped Prim wash her face and ordered her to sip slowly.

They ended up napping in a huddle in a corner of the cabin for the majority of the afternoon. When she woke up, Katniss felt much clearer headed. Prim was still sleeping, and she let her. She debated for a while before scratching a note for her sister in the dirt outside the entryway and taking her bow to see what she could find. She thought that she might have been able to get a squirrel, but she had decided that she didn't want to build a fire. If anyone was looking, then smoke would draw them right to them. She foraged for some greens that she knew they could eat raw instead. She knew that they would need to add other things to their diet sooner over later, but she just wanted to stay as invisible as possible for as long as they could while still keeping them from going hungry.

They developed a pattern quickly. They blocked the entryway of the cabin every night which left Katniss feeling safe enough to sleep lightly. Katniss foraged around the lake and cabin teaching Prim as they went. She made her stay behind when she went farther afield (partly because she wanted Prim where she had a secure place to retreat and partly because she could move more quickly and quietly without her little sister at her side). Prim kept their pot (which they were not yet using for cooking because Katniss was still afraid of attracting attention with a fire) filled with water in case they had to hole up because of a wild animal outside. She even put together a make shift broom that she constructed from ground debris and tried to sweep out the worst of the cobwebs from the cabin.

Katniss felt like they were being watched from time to time (even refused to go out of sight of the cabin to forage one day because of it), but it never lasted for very long. She really hoped that there wasn't a pack of wild dogs tracking them (but she was pretty sure that they wouldn't be as patient as whatever this was was being).

They were doing okay for a couple of days. Even without meat, Prim was eating better than she had in weeks. The sunken in quality of her cheeks was already correcting itself when faced with the abundance of salad like things that could be found in the woods in the spring. Katniss had decided that she was ready to chance cooking. She took her bow for hunting instead of protection for the first time since they had arrived and went looking for what she could find. It took far longer than she had wanted to leave Prim alone, but she finally brought down a squirrel. She field dressed it the way that her father had taught her and was confident that she had not forgotten anything that she was supposed to do.

Every noise anywhere remotely near them sent her into a panic the entire time that the squirrel was cooking, but no signs of any people appeared. A curious fox crept into the clearing, but it didn't stay for long. The other wildlife seemed oblivious to what they were doing (which Katniss could only be grateful for).

Everything went so well that she was planning all of the things that she would be able to feed Prim (to finally make her little wrist bones stop sticking out so far). She was even making plans in her head for what she might be able to do to get ready for winter. Prim had created a little nest of a bed for them out of some of their father's old clothes and some sweet smelling grasses and wildflowers for extra stuffing, and it was like curling up in his arms to go to bed every night. This, she was sure, was better than staying put ever could have been. She knew that she might not feel that way come winter, but winter felt like it was a long way away (even though her father had taught her better).

Then, she stepped wrong while out gathering and turned her ankle in a direction that it was very clearly not supposed to go. She wasn't sure how she managed to hobble herself back (other than the fact that there was no way that she was going to leave Prim alone in the dark wondering what had happened). It was double the size that it should be when she got back, and they barely got the shoe off her foot (they had to completely take out the laces). Prim prodded it with a finger, and Katniss saw stars. Without focusing on getting back to Prim, there was nothing to keep her from noticing the pain. She tried to get up to follow when Prim darted for the door and landed on her backside for her trouble. Prim, however, was back before the spots stopped dancing in front of her vision. When she finally could focus again on what her sister was doing, Prim was soaking her ankle in something and wrapping strips of cloth around it.

It turned out that her sister had been studying the book during the times that Katniss was gone and was just itching to get in some practice.

"I can do this," Prim told her when Katniss started to protest. "This part is my job." The tone was so matter of fact and self-assured that Katniss took a moment to decide that she was still awake.

Prim kept them fed for the next two days while she soaked and slathered and treated Katniss's ankle with whatever she pleased (Katniss didn't know enough to argue with her). It didn't look as angrily swollen and wrongly colored as it had on that first day, but she had done something seriously wrong to it that was not getting better fast enough for her taste.

That was when the sense of being watched came again - as she sat by the entry to the cabin and watched Prim make the trip down to refill their pot of water (which took longer than usual because of the scrubbing out she had to give it because it was doubling as the place that she made Katniss soak her ankle). She had been using her enforced sitting to try to think of what else they could use to hold water, but she hadn't had any brilliant ideas that felt practical. Prim was just turning to come back when the man stepped out of the woods.

Katniss's heart skipped a beat as she realized that they would never be able to keep out a person with their make shift blocking of the door. She couldn't run at all, and Prim couldn't run fast enough. They had nowhere to go; they had been caught. The little life that they had been building was all over now, and there wasn't anything that she could do about it. She stood up anyway because whatever was coming wouldn't be made better by facing it sitting down.

Prim had dropped the pot of water and come scrambling over to tuck herself into Katniss's side. At first, Katniss thought that she was scared and trying to hide. Then, she noticed the protective stance that she was trying to pull off as she wedged herself under her older sister's arm to take the weight off of her injured ankle as much as she could.

"I'm not here to hurt you," the man announced stopping when he got close enough that he didn't need to raise his voice for them to hear him. "I'm guessing that you're not going to take my word for that though, are you?"


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: _The Hunger Games_ is not mine.

The man stepped a little bit closer, and Katniss instinctively shifted her weight in preparation to run. The pain that radiated up her leg when she did so quickly brought the fact that running was not an option to the forefront of her mind again. He noticed and stopped where he was.

"I'm Aiden Donner," he told them tilting his head to the side as if waiting to see what they might do with the offered information. When they simply waited in turn, he raised an eyebrow and continued. "This would be the part where you tell me that you are Primrose and Katniss," he prompted. If that was supposed to make Katniss decide that he was somehow more trustworthy, then it failed. She felt her eyes narrowing without her making a conscious effort to make them do so.

"How do you know that?" She glared at him. She was feeling helpless and all of her anger over the circumstances was manifesting itself in hostility. What use was there in being polite? They had already been caught. There was no explaining away being this far outside the fence for as long as they had been gone.

He smiled - a genuine looking smile that felt all out of place for the conversation they were having and where they were having it.

"A little birdie told me," he replied as if something about the words was deeply amusing. "Look," he said taking another couple of steps forward and freezing again when he saw how they tensed in response. "We could stand still staring each other down all day, or I could offer you some information that you might find interesting given the way things currently appear to be playing out." He glanced around and made his way toward a rock that placed him out of the girls' immediate vicinity but gave him a place to sit without being directly on the ground. "This could take a while," he told them. "It might be a good idea to rest that ankle. Why don't the two of you have a seat?"

Prim looked up as if checking for her sister's approval, but Katniss was already shaking her head. "We'll stand."

"Of course they'll stand," the man muttered to himself (but still very much audibly). "If they were compliant children, then they wouldn't be out here in the first place." He shook his head, but there was still a hint of a smile visible on his face. "I'm going to start this story with the rebellion," he told them seeming oblivious to the fact that Katniss had zero interest in anything that he was about to say. "It really begins long before that - all the way in the time before Panem was Panem. That would be rather more than we could comfortably tackle at present, however, so we will skip ahead and only cover the most pertinent parts to our current predicament. I imagine the two of you have heard the Treaty read enough times by now that you are passingly familiar with the gist of it." He paused there as if offering them a chance to make a response. He got none from Katniss, but Prim did give a small nod of her head (looking immediately at her sister's face in apology as if she had made the gesture without thinking and was afraid that the other girl wouldn't like it). Katniss was still too busy glaring at the intruder to notice.

"I don't know if you've ever given much thought to what went into that paper. The two of you are a bit on the young side for that. The people who signed it all had their reasons. I would say some of them more well-reasoned than others, but I wasn't actually there to know all of the details. What I do know is that not everyone was willing to sign. They had their reasons as well, and I'm fully willing to admit to a bias because I am firmly on their side. Of course, I grew up outside of the fence, so my perspective might be just a tad different."

"Outside of the fence," Katniss repeated (doing something other than glaring for the first time in several minutes) as if tasting the words out on her tongue and not being quite able to determine how she felt about them.

"I'm getting a bit ahead of myself," Aiden said by way of a response. "Let me back up again to that Treaty. And," he added, "I'm still very certain that it would be a better idea for you to sit down."

Katniss and Prim didn't move.

"Fine," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Have it your way."

* * *

The Mayor's wife disappeared into the Apothecary's Shop at a quarter after six one evening and did not reappear until nearly nine thirty. It was an established fact in the interested quarters of the District that the woman had been developing a series of health problems so concerning that the District Doctor had been called in and a consultation with a specialist from outside of the District had been arranged. Such an accommodation as the second event was without precedent in the memory of the vast majority of the exchangers of gossip (and not a small amount of grumbling about the privileges of officials had ensued). This bit of common knowledge, however, meant that not a single person thought twice about what the former Miss Donner might have been doing spending more than three hours with the parents of her childhood friend (with whom she was not at all in the habit of visiting). As a matter of fact, most people did not even think about the fact that she had been a childhood friend of the couple's daughter. They merely thought that she was looking for further options for dealing with whatever health crisis she was having (details were sketchy despite the best efforts of subtle and not so subtle questions being posed to the servants of the household).

If anyone who knew her well enough to read her expressions had been around to see when she emerged, then they would have noticed that she looked very pleased about something. There was, however, no one fitting that description available to notice anything. She made her way home in the quiet of the District at night and made her way directly to the room upstairs where her daughter was sleeping.

She kicked her shoes off by the end of the bed and climbed in next to the little girl who stirred in response.

"Mama?" She asked in that tone universally used by children who are not completely awake.

"Shh, sweetheart," her mother replied wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close. "Just go back to sleep."

The little girl did as she was told and did not even remember the incident in the morning. Her mother, however, did not drift off to sleep for a very long time. She, instead, savored the moment of being close to her child still following Haymitch's earlier implied advice about while she still could.

The couple from the Apothecary made a trip to the Seam the next day. Before anyone had much in the way of time to speculate about what it was that they might be doing, their widowed and newly childless daughter had been packed up and reinstalled into her childhood bedroom.

Stories of how a broken down Townie woman may have done away with her Seam born children became a fall back upon staple of the District's gossip for years to come.


	8. Flashback

Disclaimer: _The Hunger Games_ is not mine.

 _Around 70 Years Earlier . . ._

"Would you stop," the man panted as he chased after the figure making his way rapidly through the darkening streets. The other man didn't heed the demand. "Or slow down or something," the first man tried next. "You need to talk to me."

The man did stop at that. He spun on his heel and nearly sent the speaker tumbling to the ground with his effort at matching the quick stop.

"The time for talking was back in there," he pointed his finger in the direction from whence they had come. "When it might have actually done some good. There's nothing left to talk about."

"We could talk about how you went running out of that meeting," the other man countered. "How that isn't going to do any good."

"They've made up their minds," the first man insisted. "They've had their vote."

"That's right," he agreed putting emphasis on the words that followed. "We had a vote."

"I'm not stopping them."

"You think you're doing what? You're running? You're going to keep this going in some sort of short sighted gorilla war? What are you thinking? Are you even thinking?" The man was becoming increasingly agitated as he spoke. The worry lines on his forehead seemed to engrave themselves more deeply with each word.

"I signed up for this knowing full well that it might kill me in the process," the words were matter of factly spoken. They were calm and measured as if he wanted to make the point that he was aware of exactly what he was doing and not unthinkingly taking actions as the other man had implied. "I made my peace with that. I was at peace with that because I believed in why we claimed we were fighting. I still believe in it. Where was that belief in there?" He asked tilting his head to the side as if he genuinely hoped the other man could provide him with the answer. "Where were our principles when they decided that they were going to up and sign over other people's lives and futures to something worse than what we were already fighting against?"

"They're scared," another man joined the small discussion. "They're grasping at straws to try to make that fear go away," he offered in explanation.

"They aren't scared of coliseum style slaughtering of their children?" The original runner scoffed.

"Libby and Delia are taking Claire home by the way," the new addition tacked on to the conversation. "So, if either of them isn't home when you get there, that's likely where they are."

"Is she . . . ?"

"No," he shook his head, "she said she thought it was a backache. I imagine all the tension was getting to her. Your wives were gracious enough to offer so that I could come chasing after the two of you."

"You can't be okay with this - neither of you," the runner insisted looking at them both with an expression that was a mixture of disappointment and pleading.

"I don't think they really mean it," his original pursuer blurted out in response.

"What? You saw the offer the same as the rest of us."

"I think it's a test," he told them. "They want to know that they've broken us. They want to believe that we are so far gone that we'll agree to anything to make it stop. It's their way of ensuring that we aren't just buying time to regroup and start this up again."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm not saying that they haven't done awful things over the years. I'm not saying that I don't think they are capable of horrible things. I'm not saying that I've changed my mind about where I stand on self-governance. But, this is ridiculous," his tone changed, and he sounded half as if he was trying to walk himself through processing the words even as he spoke them. "It's not serious. It can't possibly be. There is a huge difference between ambivalence toward working conditions and a denial of voting privileges and the authorization of the rounding up of innocent children to participate in some sort of a battle to the death. Sane people wouldn't suggest such a thing. The regular people living there - they would never condone that. They can't mean it, Paul. I'm telling you it's a test."

"You willing to risk your boy's life on that, Henry?" Paul snapped at him.

"You don't even have children," the man replied. "You need to calm down. It was shocking to read. We were all shocked to read it. You just need to take a little time and breathe and you'll realize that it will never actually happen. Conversely, we need this treaty to happen. We may not be broken, but we are beaten. We can't make it through another winter like the last one. Nobody's children will make it."

They were interrupted by a woman hurrying along the street toward them.

"The radio is going crazy, Henry," she told him. "Something about District 13 that I can't make heads or tails of - the code is going so fast."

"I'll be right there," he assured her. She nodded and headed back at a brisk trot in the direction from which she had appeared. "Talk some sense into your brother, Perry, before he goes and does something impetuous that can't be taken back."

The two men remaining were left staring at each other in the gathering shadows.

"He's wrong," Paul broke the silence. "They aren't going to suddenly turn magnanimous. If we take this offer, then they are going to follow through on it. They have to follow through on it. Otherwise, they'll think that they are demonstrating a weakness that we might take advantage of later. You know that, don't you?"

"You've known Henry all of our lives. He never believes the worst until it is standing in front of him staring him down. He needs what he's saying to be true to make himself sign."

"But you know that it's not going to be okay."

"I know that he's not wrong about the winter. I know that they have beaten us. It's either take their terms or get picked off a few at a time until they don't have to bother anymore because this District will starve to death. Losing that depot was the end for us whether we wanted to admit it at the time or not. That's what I know, and you know it just as well."

"I won't stay here," Paul insisted.

"What do you mean by that?" His brother asked him. "You think you can go running off to the woods and they won't bother looking for you?"

"I don't care if they come looking or not," he responded sounding disgusted. "I won't be party to this. I won't sit here and pretend that other people's lives are something I can use to barter."

"We would be bartering with other people's lives if we kept fighting," Perry reminded him.

"That would be on them and their refusal to let us go. If we take their terms, then it's on us."

"You think you're going to live somewhere with just you and Libby then?"

"I'm not opposed to taking others," Paul shook his head. "I wasn't the only one in that room who knew this was wrong."

"But you were the only one that made a scene by running out."

"I couldn't stomach sitting there listening to them try to convince themselves that this is justified."

"I can't take Claire and Gracey out there," Perry said with a resigned sounding sigh. "Grace is barely two. Claire is going to have the new one any day now. I can't take them out there and have no way to take care of them."

"But you can stay here and sign their lives away?" His brother questioned sounding as if he couldn't understand how that option could be considered the better choice.

"I'm not going to stop you," Perry said in reply. "Claire and I will even gather up whatever we can to help you on your way, but I can't take them somewhere that I know I'm going to fail at taking care of them. What do I know about the woods and hiding and finding ways to not freeze to death or starve in them? You and Libby might have time to learn, but you don't have that kind of buffer when there are children involved. We'll stay here," he stated with finality. "Besides, this District is going to need someone to remind them that we aren't broken. It's going to need people who know how wrong this is. People who can remember all of the reasons why we shouldn't be doing this are going to be needed on the scene when the bottom starts falling out of things."

"We'll find a way to keep in touch - to let you know if we find a safe place where you can bring the children."

"You can't do that," he shook his head. "They'll have this place locked up tight - for a while anyway. If there is any chance of you and Lib not getting caught, then you're going to have to go and go quickly. You can't hang around in the vicinity and hope that nobody mentions to any of the authorities that are going to come flooding in here that some of the citizenry didn't bother to stick around."

"It's not that I want to leave the rest of my family behind," Paul sounded regretful even through the determination in his tone.

"You just have to make your own decisions," Perry agreed with no trace of judgment. "Claire and I have to make ours. That's part of what we wanted out of this fight, wasn't it?" He reminded. "We Donners and our dedication to being able to make our own decisions?"

"You think Libby will think I'm right?" For the first time, Paul sounded slightly unsure about what he was doing.

"I think that woman would follow you anywhere," Perry assured him. "Donner women are dedicated by nature - even the ones who marry into this clan."

"It may not be soon, but we will find a way to let you know some day."

"And maybe when you do I'll be able to tell you that Henry was right."

"I won't be holding my breath," Paul stated with a slight grimace, "but a little hope never killed anybody."

"I don't know about that, little brother," Perry shook his head as he contemplated something. "A little bit of hope might be the most dangerous thing of all. A little bit of hope might make us complacent or leave us letting things continue that shouldn't because it might turn out alright. I think I would rather we have either a whole lot of hope or be left without any at all."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: _The Hunger Games_ is not mine.

Word of the return to the shop of the apothecary shopkeepers' daughter spread through the District with all the speed that one might expect from a piece of gossip that good. There were the whispers and the muttering about the children, of course, but there was also a collective sigh of relief throughout the majority of the homes on both sides of Twelve. The couple that most of the District relied on to treat their ills were not getting any younger, and they had not taken anyone in to apprentice with them when their daughter had gone running off to get married. The previous years had seen a couple of occasions where the shop was completely closed down for a week or better because of age and health issues on the part of the owners, and there had been more than one family that had suffered during their absence. Still, no one had stepped up to approach them about teaching one of their teens or even inquired about the possibility of providing them with some help around the shop. They had muttered their concerns to themselves, but they had remained so glued to the roles the people of the District subscribed to that they never did more than talk.

They continued to talk after her return, but they coupled their talk with the action of stopping into the shop to ask for headache remedies and sleep syrup - things that would give them an excuse to walk in and see what might be happening while still being a justified expense for items that they could keep on hand. (Even the people of Twelve who most cherished their gossip were not about to be wasteful of money in order to get it.)

The baker was the first person to make what might be considered an actual social call. He disappeared through the shop's backdoor one day carrying a basket covered with a napkin that did little to hide that whatever was inside was still steaming. He walked out with the clearly empty basket swinging at his side well over an hour later. His expression as he returned to the bakery was the usual one that he wore whenever he was seen out and about among the other shops of Town - including pleasant nods of his head toward those he happened to encounter along his way.

Those that saw him in the next few days would see the unusual sight of a frown etched across the senior Mellark's features that looked as if it was trying to make itself permanent. This coincided with the bruises visible on all three of his sons that the boys had laughingly passed off as roughhousing that had gone wrong and ended with the three of them landing in a pile at the bottom of the stairs that led from their apartment to the bakery below. No one asked them any further questions. It was no secret that the Mellark boys liked to wrestle (or that the occasional mark would appear on one of their faces that was nearly always shrugged off without the offer of an explanation). The bruises eventually faded, the baker's expression eventually cleared, but no one saw him making visits to the apothecary ever again.

People in the surrounding shops clucked their tongues, but they mostly held their silence on that particular topic. Everyone knew that the baker's wife had a temper. No one wanted to be responsible for making things worse on the boys than those that were paying attention already suspected it to be.

The curiosity visits to the apothecary died down soon enough, and in the way that things often go, people forgot that they had ever worried that they were going to be left without any options at all soon after. Their problem had been solved to their satisfaction, and they had plenty of other things about which they could worry to take the place of those left behind concerns.

Ari Everdeen was working in the shop where she had grown up within a couple of days of moving back. She knew exactly what to recommend for whatever ills were described to her, and she moved through the jars and vials of the shelves with an assurance and efficiency of movement that belied the fact that she had ever been away. She was soft spoken and kind to those that came to ask for help, and people quickly learned to pay no mind to the way that she would, at times, turn her head and explain what she was doing to someone who was not there. People were grateful for her skill and knew that the value of it far outweighed the awkward pauses that occurred when the woman would softly ask "Prim" to fetch her something. The woman would eventually reach over and grab whatever it was that she needed herself even as she offered a thank you to the little girl who was not standing beside her learning her mother's trade.

The people who came to the shop did not comment on the occasions that she would tell a "Katniss" that only she could see to go tell her father that it was time to wash up for supper. The confusion in her head never extended to her remedies, so it never mattered to those who came to be supplied with them. There were those throughout the District who might whisper "guilty conscience" in little clusters behind her back, but they never said a word or tried to correct her misapprehensions about the children and husband who were not there to her face. Her parents simply worked around her moments - acting as if they hadn't heard the things she said (and, after all, the words were not for their ears anyway).

The shop ran on, and the shop ran well. The people of District 12 were grateful to have it.

* * *

"Is that story real?" Prim whispered from her place on the ground huddled against her sister's side. (The decision to stand while Aidan did his talking had not lasted beyond the first five minutes of the weaving of his story - his grandmother had always told him that he had a gift for what she called drawing in an audience, but he figured he could not claim their absorption as totally to his credit. There were mitigating circumstances - an injury, their youth, and the fact that he was offering them something like hope were all things that contributed to the way the two of them had sunk down into the grass without seeming to realize that they were doing it.)

"It's real," Aiden affirmed with a nod of his head that he intended to be reassuring. The little girl's eyes lit up in a strange fashion, and Aiden could not tell which part of his words she was latching onto and pondering. Katniss, however, looked nothing but suspicious.

"If it's true, if there's a place they aren't in charge, then why would you tell us?" She questioned him. He supposed that the words should not have caught him off guard the way that they had - he had no reason to think the girl anything other than wary and hostile (except for the way that she treated her sister). Of all the questions he had prepared to answer, it had never occurred to him that he would need to actually spell out the fact that he was making an offer. It would be a bit presumptuous (and not at all welcome) for him to say that they were children on their own and he had come to pack them up and move them somewhere else. These were runners (despite their age). It may have been quite some time since there had been a runner to find their way into the woods, but he still knew that people who became runners were not receptive to being told what they were going to do.

"I would like to bring you there," he answered honestly after what felt like a pause that had gone on for ages (but had really only been a few beats). Katniss immediately drew her sister closer into her side and began to shake her head. "This," he added quickly gesturing at the house behind them, "was a good choice for a first step. You clearly know how to find food in these woods. You knew that water was the most important thing; you even found a sort of shelter for the two of you. All of those are good and resourceful things. It doesn't change the fact that you're hurt, that you are still close enough to the District for an accidental encounter to happen, or that winter is going to come eventually. You need another option, and that is what I'm offering you."

Katniss was looking at him like he was talking crazy, but Prim was tugging at her sleeve and urging her to lean closer so that they could whisper. He had a feeling that he was going to be in for a bit of a wait. He shifted around some to make himself more comfortable (his seat was, after all, rather hard) and settled in for what he figured was a time where it would be best if he remained both still and quiet. He had completed his round of talking through explanations. The next part was up to the two of them.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: _The Hunger Games_ is not mine.

"Chin up, little one," the man told Prim with a sincere grin. "Home is just up ahead."

His use of the word home (ever increasing as the hours had gone by) still grated against Katniss's nerves. She didn't want to think about why, so she channeled her frustration into glaring at the man whether he was paying any attention to her or not.

She hadn't wanted to come; she still didn't want to come even though the lake and the cabin were more than a day's journey behind them. She knew that much of the time had to do with the pace they had taken to contend with the joint liability of her ankle and Prim's short legs and need to rest, but she still wasn't completely certain that she would have been able to find her way back. She hated that. It made her feel helpless, and she had had enough of that to last her a lifetime already. She didn't trust the man that had asked them to call him Aiden. He had done nothing but be helpful (aside from the initial nearly scaring to death that had taken place when she had first seen him emerge from the woods). He had fashioned her a walking stick that helped immensely (even though she had and would not be muttering more than the softest of thank yous in his direction for it). She still could not travel for very far or very long before requiring a break (that she refused to ask for out of sheer stubbornness and irritation - which did not seem to matter as either Prim or he insisted anyway as if they could tell without her saying), but the wrapping and bracing that he had talked Prim through had shifted something that made a vast improvement from the barely hobbling at all that had been her lot before his intervention. She resented that.

She knew she didn't have a good reason for that resentment, but she resented it just the same. It rankled to know that she needed help to look after Prim; it felt like she was back in that rain feeling like there was no way out. Following Aiden into the woods felt like she was getting herself into something that she would never be able to find her way out of, and she had not had a moment where she was anything other than tense from the time that Prim had looked up at her with her blue eyes and let out a half-whispered plea for them to go with him.

They had packed up their meager belongings and headed off in a direction with which Katniss was completely unfamiliar. She had rebuffed Aiden's casually mentioned suggestion that carrying her for a while might be an option to consider, and he had dropped it without further comment. She found she also resented that the man was being so perfectly reasonable about everything. It would be much easier to maintain her distance and wariness if he would stop being so nice. She didn't have any defenses for genuine kindness, and it was looking more and more with each passing hour in his company as if that was really what it was that he was offering to them. The only thing she had had left to hold on to through the hours that he had pointed out plants that might be of interest, led them to places to get water, carried Prim on his shoulders (something that made her stomach clench with a desire to be sick over seeing someone take on a task that had always been their father's), talked her sister through checking on her ankle (assuming, correctly, that him touching her would be more than unwelcome), found a place for them to sleep for the night that actually felt as if it would be safe enough for there to be actual sleeping (not that Katniss actually did more than nod off here and there when she could not help it any longer), and told stories that made her feel as if she could forget where she was and what she was in the midst of and be lost in them if only she would let herself.

She wasn't ready for that. She was a mishmash of emotions which she could not sort, so she snapped off a question in response to his comment.

"Down in the valley?" She asked giving a deprecating glance at the way the ground was sloping.

"Well, a shining city on a hill would be a little too conspicuous to certain parties," he responded without so much as a pause and nothing but good humor in his voice.

* * *

The baker's youngest son had inherited his father's easy smile. The people of District 12 took it for granted that that was the expression that would be on the child's face when they happened to walk by him. The expectation was so well ingrained that no one noticed when his smile was absent when he would make his way in the direction of the space of ground in the District reserved for the burial of its inhabitants. Likewise, no one noticed that the slab of rock that marked the place where two little girls from the Seam had been buried in the same hole (why, figured the officials in charge, dig twice when once would be sufficient) was always decorated with elaborate sketches of flowers in chalk after the boy had made his way back home.

* * *

"This is it," Aiden announced throwing an arm out in front of him as if he was putting the view on display. He turned his head and looked at the expression on the girls' faces. "What?" He inquired trying to place the look that he was seeing.

"There's no fence," the words tumbled out of Katniss's mouth before she had a chance to consider to whom she was talking.

"We aren't making people stay here," he answered the question that was lurking behind the words. "They stay because they want to stay."

"But the things in the woods," Prim piped up looking confused and sounding as young as she actually was. The words were whispered in the same tone that would be used to ask what might be lurking in the shadows under the bed.

"Most of them around here have enough sense to stay away from groups of people," Aiden replied with a shrug. "I'm not saying that the woods don't require caution," he went on, "but this is our home." He stopped as if that should answer their question. Katniss wasn't sure that it did.

"Let's get going," he motioned with his head. "I've got someone who can tell you a lot more about that ankle if you're willing to listen, and I think you both might want to have a good night's sleep. Are you coming?" He turned and started walking toward the path that had been worn in between the thinning trees.

Prim reached out and wrapped her fingers around her sister's. Katniss looked from the man's retreating back to the questions in her little sister's eyes. She squeezed, and Prim gave a half-smile.

"Is this going to be home now?"

"I don't know."

"I hope so," the little girl told her. "I want the stories he told us to be true."

"Prim . . .," she started.

"Please," Prim pleaded. "Can we please try?"

Katniss pulled her sister into her side and wrapped her arm around her. They started walking toward the first signs of the path together.

"We can try."


End file.
